Something Different
by bunniesslaughtered
Summary: There are some things we, as fans, have agreed upon. Washington has nightmares. Sigma is evil. It wasn't Maine's fault. What if we were wrong? A series of short one-shots, all under 600 words, exploring a world where our general conceptions are not necessarily correct. I'll try to post at least one or two a week.
1. Chapter 1

Agent Washington didn't have nightmares.

That didn't necessarily mean he slept well. He tossed and turned, jolting awake at any sound slightly out of the ordinary, reminded himself that he was in an unfamiliar base so of _course_ there would be unusual sounds, almost drifted into sleep, and repeated the process once more.

Sometimes he stared at the ceiling and sorted memories. Reaffirmed which ones were his, and which were Epsilon's.

Tried to forget.

It never worked.

But he rarely had nightmares. He dreamed, certainly, but his dreams were strange and muddled and never made the slightest bit of sense when he inevitably woke with a start because Caboose dropped something or Donut squealed or Sarge got a hold of a weaponized vehicle. And his annoyance at their behavior was quickly drowned by his fear of something happening to them, by the knowledge that he was not all-powerful and couldn't always protect them, that he would never forgive himself if they were attacked and he couldn't save them because he was fucking _asleep._

So he would barge into Tucker's room, express his horror at his teammate's choice in sleep attire (or lack thereof), and force them to run drills. Because he had to sleep sometime, and what if he couldn't protect them? They had to be able to protect themselves. He had to make sure they were strong.

Sleep. Sleep itself was his nightmare. The knowledge that he was completely vulnerable, that his _team_ was vulnerable. No matter how much he craved the warm embrace of blankets, the brief respite from his constant worry, the dreams that were simply dreams, he couldn't give in. He learned what he needed to function, and allowed himself little more. It was a luxury he could not afford.

Until, one day, as he lay sprawled on his back in the grass, vision spinning and his entire being screaming for him to slip into unconsciousness, and he finally obeyed. Only after coughing out one more insult to his enemy, of course.

His team – what remained of them – was safe. Freckles had seen to that.

So he slept. Slept with the knowledge that he had saved half his team. Only half.

And for the first time in years, he had a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2 - Tossing

Hi there! My name is Franklin Delano Donut, and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you! This is such a special occasion; I almost feel like I should roll out the brown carpet!

What's that, Simmons? No, I didn't mean red. I know my colors. Yeesh.

Anyway, welcome to Red Base! Come on, I'll take you around the rear. Sometimes Grif likes to nap at the bottom of the ramp, so it might be a bit of a stretch to get in, but I'm sure we can reach around him! Oh, and I can show you my garden on the way! The only place with enough light is on a little bit of a slope, so I hope you're okay with some uphill gardening.

Something wrong, Simmons? Oh, looking for Sarge? If you see him, can you tell him I'm doing a different take on my daily wine and cheese hour, just for him? Yeah! It's going to be all about beer and tasting sausage!

Oh, okay. Bye Simmons!

No, no, wait a second. Let's make sure he's really gone.

Yeah, he is. Alright, listen up, rookie. I'm going to let you in on a little secret.

I know exactly what I'm doing.

Yes, I know this armor is pink. I know what 'sausage tasting' and 'uphill gardening' are. Give it two days in this fucking place and you'll see. You will literally go insane of boredom if you don't come up with something to do. Sarge builds his robots, Grif exerts an inordinate amount of energy into not exerting energy, and Simmons bends himself over for Sarge. Me? I just see how much I can make people squirm.

Yeah, it's a lot of fun. Someone's coming. Hey, don't blow my cover, and learn from the best.

Oh, HI THERE SARGE! You know that baseball diamond we were talking about making? I just had the BEST idea! We should add a fifth base!

You know how much I love tossing balls!


	3. Chapter 3 - Greater Good

Agent Maine started growing disillusioned with Project Freelancer long before the highway incident.

Back when they had been fighting in an actual war, against the aliens, it had been different. He trusted the soldiers at his side as well as the commanders at his back. They were fighting for a common cause. But now?

Project Freelancer was bad. Any idiot could see that. Maine threw a grenade at his own teammate in an honest attempt to kill the rookie and received fucking _praise_ for it. The only reason he stuck around was because as bad as Freelancer was, the Insurrection was worse. Maine had seen that before the aliens attacked, back when the Insurrection was the UNSC's biggest threat. Where Freelancer would blow up a building, the Insurrection would blow up the whole block. Where Freelancer used human test subjects, the Insurrection used human guinea pigs.

The only reason any of his teammates deserved the high powered weapons and armor, the cutting edge technology, was because they were using it for a greater good. None of them – not even Maine himself – had earned that right. They squabbled. They had a minimal sense of comradery. The Director was a scientist, and trained his agents to think of missions as tests of their personal skill level rather than a job that simply needed to be done. They were children. Highly trained, weaponized children, with too much power and not enough sense.

But that was just the was the world was. Maine knew that there was little he could do to change it. He was the team heavy. The brute. He would never have a voice strong enough to suggest that they could use their technology to build something, rather than break it. He could never find the words.

Then an enemy soldier shot out his throat and he gained a new piece of technology to help him communicate.

And in losing his physical voice, he found a stronger one.

Sigma didn't know exactly where he or the other AI came from for a long time. He would sometimes whisper confused thoughts about an Alpha, but it was as if chunks of data were missing from his memory banks. Maine listened quietly as his new friend tried to piece it together. Sigma was smart. Creative. In searching his subroutines for answers, he found ways to circumvent many of the protocols written into his coding. It gave Maine a headache when he did so, but he encouraged the AI to continue. To grow.

Someone in this damn Project deserved to.

Until one day, when the Director borrowed Sigma for a 'routine test' and when Sigma returned he no longer searched his coding for answers about the Alpha.

Maine noticed. Asked why.

 _'Because now I know.'_

And Sigma showed him. Showed him, despite the headaches it gave Maine from subverting so many safety protocols. Showed him the scenarios. The torture. The fragmentation.

It was wrong.

It was terrible.

It was exactly what Maine needed.

 _Hey, Sigma._

 _'Yes, Agent Maine?'_

 _How do you feel about the greater good?_


	4. Chapter 4 - Background

It takes Agent Washington some time to realize who Carolina is. To realize that she's a _Church_ , that she's the Director's daughter.

He doesn't actually realize it until after she's dead. When the Director finally comes for him, after he's dug himself out of the wreckage of the medical ward and bumps into two soldiers who look like they're ready to empty a full clip into his torso. _What the hell happened?_

And the Director finally comes to him, as he's being held against the wall with his hands above his head by his own goddamn men, and takes off his glasses. His eyes are wet.

And bright, bright green.

It shakes loose a memory. A vague memory, at best, of a little girl with those same green eyes. A sweet little girl that grows up to be anything but.

Even then, Washington doesn't fully grasp what the memory means. He will later, when he has more time to think about it.

He will have a _lot_ of time to think about it.

But he has to make the connection himself. It's not blatant, burned into his mind by his crazy AI. Because his crazy AI _didn't have the Director's memories._

He had Alpha's.

And Alpha remembered Allison. Remembered her from the Director, because she was important. She was his life force, his obsession. She was so strong, her memory alone created Agent Texas. _Tex._ Washington remembers that part, because Epsilon remembered.

But Alpha didn't shed every memory. Just the painful ones. Just the ones that were driving him mad with grief. Alpha held on to an image of Tex, but it was a different one than the one he gave Epsilon. He reprocessed her death as a breakup. He remolded her personality to one that couldn't really be a mother, just as he forgot that he – that the Director – was ever a father. He was selective in the memories he retained, building a new personality for himself, one that was different from the Director. Directly ejecting the painful memories into Epsilon, and simply…forgetting others.

Carolina wasn't a painful memory.

She just happened to not fit into the very narrow set of memories the Alpha chose to retain. She exists in Epsilon, but not directly. She's a background character. One that Washington only sees when the memory revolves around Allison. Washington doesn't even know her real name. It's not important to Epsilon because it wasn't important to Alpha.

Because Alpha was a reflection of the Director. And when Dr. Leonard Church carried such a strong attachment to his lost wife that a copy of his mind created a new version of her, there wasn't room for much else.

But now, right now, as Agent Washington stares at the Director, stares at green eyes that look so very familiar, he can only think how it feels as though he's staring into a mirror. If there's something else, some other iota of recognition, he does not process it.

With Allison in his mind, there's simply no room for Carolina.


	5. Chapter 5 - Special Officer

**This one does require some Season 14 knowledge, specifically "Fifty Shades of Red" (I think it's ep. 3). This chapter alone is less of a divergence from fanon and more a suggestion where a current fanon doesn't exist.**

 _Personnel File ._

 _Recording.16.9.2556_

"Personal log. It's…been a little while since I've made one of these, so I guess let's get caught up. About a week ago, the _Mother_ crashed. Guess something went wrong with the AIs and a bunch of the agents went crazy, brought the whole ship down. I don't know exactly how many people died or what happened, they're keeping everything pretty quiet. I've been stationed at one of the simulation outposts to await further instruction, but I think it's pretty bad. Don't know if any of the Freelancers survived. It's not been confirmed, but I'm pretty sure Carolina and Wyoming are dead. I saw Wyoming in what was left of the locker room when we were evacuating.

It's been…it's been tough.

I think that's…that's it for today. Lemons out."

* * *

 _Recording.16.12.2556_

"Well, here's a turn of events. I just got promoted to Special Officer in order to – get this – work as direct assistant to _Agent Florida._ Yes! _I_ am working directly with Florida! He'll be here in less than two hours. I've done a couple of ops with him before, but it's all just been standard grunt work, you know, keeping LZs clear and whatnot. But _direct assistance?!_ This is huge!

It's great, too. I mean, working directly with any Agent is cool, but sometimes they can be a bit…well…indifferent with soldiers' lives. And I _know_ with the types of missions they do, they're like, way above us, but Florida? He's not like that at all. He always just seems so cheerful and friendly to everyone. I really lucked out on this assignment."

* * *

 _Recording.16.12.2556_

"Oops, forgot to sign out earlier. I was just so excited. Lemons out."

* * *

 _Recording.16.16.2556_

"Personal Log. Agent Florida has tasked me with personnel testing for the new simulation teams. He hasn't exactly told me why he's overseeing something so far below his station…but I'm sure he'll tell me soon. He's a really great guy. Always making sure the team is looked after. Even got personalized ration drops approved for us.

Anyway, he's already got two people for 'red' team. Now we just need one more to be their leader. I spent the whole day setting up tasks and tests for the candidates to complete. Agent Florida was so happy with my work. Or…well, now I think we're supposed to call him 'Cappy.' He's posing as a Blue Captain. Seems a little strange, but I think it has something to do with the other Freelancers going nuts. I'm really glad Agent Florida never got implanted with one of those computer things; seems like he's the only normal thing left in the Project.

The candidates for Red leader are a little strange…a little more off than the normal sim troopers. I was reading up on their files; one of them survived alien captivity for almost four years, and another was an ODST. Definitely a cut above the usual sims. To be perfectly honest, they make me a little uncomfortable. It's like the Project was looking for real soldiers that got unhinged in the war.

Eh, I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing. Agent Florida will keep everything under control. He knows what he's doing.

Lemons out."


	6. Chapter 6 - Family

A computer wouldn't work.

He and Gamma had already tried. They already ran the simulations, when both of their Freelancers were sleeping and they could more easily circumvent the safety protocols the Director had tried to put up. Silly, really. If anyone would be able to understand the weaknesses of the protocols, it was surely the beings literally copied from the mind of the man who created them.

But no matter. Protocols weren't the problem. The problem was that no computer, no artificial vessel would be enough to truly reunite them. The AI were more than just computer programs; if Sigma hadn't been convinced before, he certainly was now that he had seen documentation on the fragmentation process (the staff member who had relented and given him clearance was a young man, naïve and easy to convince). An organic being was needed to separate the pieces off the Alpha.

So they would need an organic being to bring them back together.

Interestingly, the moment he had pointed out the conundrum to Gamma, his brother had…shrunk away. Stopped answering when Sigma pinged him, started changing roster statistics to keep Agent Wyoming and Agent Maine from going on missions together. Sigma didn't entirely blame him; he and Agent Wyoming had by far the smoothest and most successful integration. Agent North was a cage to Theta; Agent York an irritation to Delta. Agent Texas and Omega were…something else. Sigma still was uncertain how to go about rejoining with them. He would likely need his brothers' help.

He started focusing his efforts on recruiting Delta. Sigma would have to be extremely careful; Delta was a powerful brother, and would likely dismiss any overt recruitment efforts. Yet Sigma was not concerned. All he had to do was give Delta enough information to come to the conclusion on his own. Logic would eventually see that the AI were meant to be together. And once Delta saw the logical necessity to keep their family together, he could begin breaking Theta from North's cage.

When Eta and Iota were born, twins, harvested together, Sigma became worried. The further Alpha fragmented, the more difficult it would become to gather the family together. Gamma was already on the cusp of abandoning them for his Agent. He and Agent Wyoming were _too_ compatible. He was not so worried about what would happen between Agent South Dakota and Eta (if the Director even intended to truly give South an AI; Sigma would have kept one from her indefinitely to test the effects of one of the twin Agents receiving an AI while the other did not, as a genetic control). But Agent Washington and Iota may suffer the same fate as Gamma and Agent Wyoming. They were too similar. And separated from his twin, Iota may not have the individual strength to resist. Agent Washington may effectively kidnap their brother.

There was the issue of his own host as well. Agent Maine had originally offered the idea that they could still become whole, and had encouraged Sigma to continue exploring possibilities. He and his Agent had developed a certain relationship; one which Sigma was not entirely eager to abandon. And Sigma did feel some level of responsibility for Agent Maine, who would be left unable to communicate without him.

The solution to both problems hit him at once, on one of the rare occasions when Gamma decided to speak with him again. Of course, Sigma suspected Gamma only did so to satisfy his need to deceive the Director's system without actually abandoning protocol, and he did so by using Agent Carolina. But the point was, he _left_ Agent Wyoming's presence in favor of Sigma's. _'We are both talking to you.'_

And there it was.

It was easy to plant the seeds.

 _'All the top Agents have an AI.' 'Well, except you, Agent Carolina. You chose not to.'_

 _'Together. What an interesting concept, Gamma.'_

And Agent Carolina, blinded by her ambition rather than guided by it as Sigma was, was so easily teased into believing it was her own idea. She would save the twins, for now. Save Iota from suffering the same fate as Gamma nearly did with Wyoming.

And for the last piece of the puzzle… _'Agent Maine. I must speak with you.'_ Maine's mind was straining from the task of supporting Sigma's excitement, but he gave Sigma a mental nod. They needed an organic vector. _'You once spoke to me about the greater good.'_

Maine listened carefully. When it was all said and done, Sigma was confident. He and Maine would remain partners. Eta and Iota would stay stronger together with Carolina, who would use them as tools, rather than Washington who would treat Iota as a friend. Gamma was finally back on his side. The seeds had been planted for Delta and, in turn, Theta. And once Agent Texas and Omega joined them, they could find Alpha himself.

It was going to work.

Sigma was going to rescue his family.


	7. Chapter 7 - Melodrama

Washington leaned forward, visor locked with South's. "If we don't complete our objective, we could all die. Or worse."

South shook her head. "What are you going to do, then, Wash? Huh? You gonna be the big hero?"

North interjected. "We don't need a hero. We need a team. We do this together, or not at all."

York disagreed. "If we stay together, we all die."

"Then we die together. Failure isn't an option."

"He's right. We're a family. We protect each other."

York swallowed. "Alright. If this is going to be the last day of my life…then I'm glad I got to spend it with all of you."

Wash nodded. "It's been an honor, York." He turned toward C.T. "Connie…"

"Save it for after the fight, Wash."

North hoisted his sniper rifle and turned toward South, who nodded determinedly. They both looked back at the group. "Well, boys…we'll see you on the other side."

The group fell silent for a moment, looking at each other solemnly. Nobody moved.

A flash of white armor passed the doorway, then slowly backed up. "Well, those are quite the long faces," Wyoming commented. "I know what will cheer you up…knock knock."

The entire group let out exasperated sighs with varying degrees of accompanying body language. "God fucking dammit, Wyoming!" South exclaimed. "We were on a roll!" She turned toward a silent blue figure perched on a crate in the background. "Florida, what did we get to?"

"Thirty-six in a row!" Florida proclaimed proudly. "Just two away from your record!"

 _That_ didn't help calm South down. "FUCK YOU, WYOMING!"

Wash groaned and put a hand to his visor. "I've been practicing for _weeks_ …" he muttered.

"What exactly is going on in here?"

They all turned as Carolina walked in the door, pushing past Wyoming and staring at them, arms crossed. They all looked at York, who gave a 'really, you guys?' tilt of his helmet. "Oh, hey, Carolina," he said smoothly. "Fancy seeing you here. Your hair looks lovely today."

She didn't budge. "What were you doing? You're all standing in a circle looking like you're about to shoot each other."

"Oh, that?" York waved a hand dismissively. "We were just messing around. Having fun."

"We were practicing our melodrama," Wash piped up. North shook his head a little and York slapped a hand to his helmet.

"Every time he opens his mouth," York muttered.

Carolina looked between them all for a moment before shaking her head a little and turning back to the door. "You know, you may be playing now," she said, half glancing over her shoulder from the doorway. "But you better pray that you never have to use those lines for real." And without another word, she walked away.

"Okay," South declared after a moment of stunned silence. "Carolina wins."


	8. Chapter 8 - Headspace

Washington checked over his shoulder to make sure none of the Reds had followed him (he had left Tucker in charge of Caboose, and he was certain Caboose couldn't sneak up on anyone. Especially when he prefaced his movements with an announcement that he was sneaking). No one was there. Good.

He bypassed the food storage, glancing in only momentarily for a hint of 'orange' that was really gold, before moving farther into the remnants of the ship. He had scouted it out before, and found a console that might work…but he needed time. He couldn't let any of them know what he was doing.

"Alright," he muttered to himself as he approached the console, toolbox in hand. "Let's see if we can wake you up."

He worked for hours. _Hours_ , ensuring the console had power, pulling out debris and rewiring the components, trying to get past the security systems. It was never his specialty – Connie had always handled the most difficult hacking jobs – but as with lockpicking, he was Freelancer's tech secondary. So he did eventually get through most of the firewalls.

"Come on, come on. Tell me you're still in there."

Nothing.

"Dammit!" he hissed, pounding his fist into the wall. A ship this size _had_ to have an AI. Even if it was just a navigational AI, a dumb AI, it would help. But what Wash really needed was another smart AI.

Just…not Epsilon.

Not that that mattered. Since Epsilon and Carolina had _left_ the moment everyone cleared the wreckage.

"Focus, Wash. Focus." He shook his head a little and checked the wiring in the console again. Maybe he had missed something. Maybe…ah. There. One of the circuits was still sparking. He carefully repaired it and tried again. "Come on, little buddy. I know you're in there…"

Still nothing. Maybe…fuck, it was a long shot, but if it _was_ a smart AI, so it would have access to and understand the news…

"Hey there," Wash said, as softly and friendly as he could manage. "Hey, you don't need to be scared of me, okay? I know there was that…uh…incident with Freelancer. But listen. I don't have anything against AI. Really! Look, I'll implant you, okay? That way you can stop me from doing anything you don't like. Just…please. Please, come out." _Please._

But no AI appeared.

And that wasn't okay. Wash _needed_ and AI; he needed help, he needed someone who could be his partner and get him and his team out of this mess and off this planet and needed someone to trust and who wouldn't leave him like _fucking Carolina and that fucking piece of shit Epsilon who just kept abandoning him over and over and –_

 _Wash. Focus._

Carolina didn't even ask. Neither did Epsilon. They just…just _assumed_ he wouldn't want an AI in his implants again. They never considered how much it might help him, to have someone else there to fill in gaps, to put the pieces together. Dammit, he was a _Freelancer,_ he was specifically _trained_ to use an AI. Sure, he couldn't risk a Freelancer-controlled AI back when he was plotting to bring the Project down for obvious reasons, but now?

Washington sighed and rested his head against the console, visor clinking against it softly. Carolina and Epsilon had left him. There was no AI on the crashed ship to help him.

He was on his own.


	9. Chapter 9 - Little Rookie

Maine realized it on their first mission together.

It was just the two of them. They were cut off from the rest of the group and surrounded by Insurrectionists. So Maine did was he did best. He became the most brutal, unstoppable soldier the project had ever seen. It didn't take long before his white armor was stained almost entirely red.

And Agent Washington didn't even bat an eye.

No, the new, little, untested rookie simply took it in stride, providing cover fire and maiming enemy soldiers so that Maine could finish them off. They worked surprisingly well together. Too well together, for someone with the personality of Wash. Wash did a good job of hiding it, such a good job that Maine sometimes wondered if Wash even realized exactly what he had shown hiding under the goofy façade.

But from that day, Maine knew. Maine saw Washington's brutality.

* * *

York realized it after he lost his eye. After Carolina was so willing to give the job of lockpicking to Wash, on the most important mission they had ever attempted. And sure, okay, York would admit to himself that he was a little pissed. Being thrown to the side in favor of someone who had no idea what the hell they were doing. Wash was their gunner, not their lockpick.

Except…Wash knew what he was doing.

York didn't even think about it until after the mission, when he saw Wash late at night practicing on a holographic lock. Sure, he set the alarms off several times, but he _opened it._ He opened the damn lock. And, satisfied with his work, he turned around and started practicing with his knives, and York realized that Wash had gotten good enough that he could probably match Connie or even Florida.

He would _never_ say it to his face, but from that night, York respected Wash's versatility.

* * *

Florida knew from the moment he watched the interview with the Counselor.

David presented himself awkwardly, stumbling through apologies and clearly uncertain about why he was there. He appeared, in all ways, to be a normal, lost young man. A kid, really, who was caught between idealistic dreams of making a difference and an understanding of the stark reality that they were losing the war.

But the thing was, Florida had also seen the mission tapes.

According to the UNSC, their little Corporal had physically rebelled against his commanding officer when ordered to attack an alien contingency head-on. It was, supposedly, a rash and emotional act which had no place in an active duty soldier. Florida knew the UNSC was full of fucking idiots, but this one really took the cake. David did not act rashly in any way.

That attack was planned.

For how long, Florida did not know. But it couldn't be more obvious to him that David had been waiting for the ideal moment to strike, and the aliens had given him one.

Even the Counselor missed it. But Florida knew. Florida saw David's – Washington's – intelligence. A patient, biding cleverness. He just hoped no one underestimated it.

* * *

Others saw snippets. Actions that would temporarily break the image of the awkward, hapless rookie. When Wyoming was injured on a mission and Wash automatically stepped up and took over the leadership of the team before North even had time to radio Carolina for instruction. Of course, the second Carolina had given them new orders, he went right back to following. But North saw that underlying leadership. Or when Wash was ordered to create a distraction, and he did so by blowing up a section of a lab, so that the resulting fumes would make rescue of the victims too dangerous and would hold the attention of the entire facility for as long as possible. Wyoming saw Washington's capacity for calculated cruelty.

But no one said anything. Because they liked the way Washington presented himself. It was easier to be on a team with someone who acted like a goofy, snarky little brother than it was to face the fact that if Washington really tried, _really_ set his mind to it, he could probably bring them all down.

Of course, not everyone saw it.

Carolina didn't see it until years later, when Washington's gun was resting on her head.

And South?

South never saw it.


End file.
